


Stand by Me

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-26 18:42:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henricksen finally has Dean right where he wants him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stand by Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for salt_burn_porn to hunters_retreat's prompt 'I won't shed a tear, just as long as you stand by me.' Season 3-ish AU with a a really indepth plot spelled with a capital PWP.

Dean’s ass ached from having spent the day on a rock-hard mattress. His eyes wandered the cracks in the cement walls to avoid the stomach churning game of guessing what had caused each stain on the mattress pad beneath him.  
With a huffed sigh, he clunked his head back against the unforgiving wall he’d been holding up for the better part of the last two days. That was after his cellmate, Jolly Jim, had been released.

The guy had been anything but jolly and considering that Dean was in chains and Jolly had looked like he could’ve busted through one of these walls with his thick skull, Dean had given the guy a wide berth.

Mostly, Dean had just been afraid that if they’d gotten into it, he wouldn’t have stopped before doing some serious damage to Jolly. Right now, he could use something to beat to a bloody pulp.

Stupid didn’t begin to cover what Dean had been, anymore than backstabbing bastard began to cover what Victor Henricksen was.

Dean had trusted the guy. He’d honest to God been delusional enough to think he could trust the FBI agent who had made it his life mission to hunt down Dean’s sorry ass. He’d honestly thought that Victor had really gotten it – the whole demon crap and the fact that Dean had just needed one damn thing to hold onto that wasn’t trying to save this fucked up excuse for a world.

Victor had taken everything Dean had to give and shoved it back in his face.

He fidgeted with the chains around his wrists, pushing them aside the little bit they’d move to rub at the sore skin beneath. The cops had picked him up during a break in. He hadn’t tripped any alarms and there was no way anyone had just happened to see him. The place had been in the middle of nowhere and was an easy in and out.

Only one person had known he was there – the guy who’d sent him to check out the place to begin with. Special Agent Victor Henricksen.

The agent had been happily fucking him for months, but hadn’t been able to so much as spare Dean a glance when he’d walked through here this morning. He’d ignored every word Dean had shouted, had ignored him completely.

It wasn’t as if he was honestly surprised. The only thing that was weird was the fact that Victor hadn’t taken him into the FBI.

He’d been sitting in this cell, bound up in full shackles and cuffs like they were going to walk him down to the execution chamber. But there was no trip to supermax, there was no appearance by the FBI aside from Victor’s visit, no questioning – not even a fucking lawyer.

The only charge they’d presented to him was breaking and entry, but last he’d checked they didn’t waste the whole bondage suit on petty thieves.

Aside from dropping off the occasional bland as hell, but marginally edible meals, it was as if they didn’t even remember he was here. Even Jolly hadn’t said a word to him aside from warning him to steer clear of the bunk and telling him he didn’t want to fall asleep.

Dean didn’t bother to look up when he heard the clank of a security door and the echo of footsteps walking down the corridor. Even as the visitor stopped just outside his cell door, Dean only raised a brow until his eyes settled on those well-polished dress shoes that he’d thrown down onto a motel room floor more than once.

“Get up,” Victor ordered.

“Bite me.” Dean raised his head to lock his gaze on Victor, who suddenly seemed okay with meeting Dean’s eyes. “I trusted you, you son of bitch.”

“Oh, don’t stop now, Dean.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?“ Dean asked.

Dean narrowed his eyes as he took in the casual ease on Victor’s face. Of course this was all just a game to him. If their roles were reversed, it would be to Dean too. It was all about the hunt, but he wouldn’t have strung Victor along. He didn’t go easing monsters into trusting him before he gutted them.

Victor gave an impatient tap of his shoe. His hands gripped the cell’s bars as he leaned forward, pinning Dean with his glare. “I’m risking my career for you, the least you could do is get off your ass.”

The hushed words hung in the air for a long moment before they sunk in. Dean leaned forward on the bunk, glancing around for the punch line before getting to his feet. He shuffled to the cell door, standing uncertainly as Victor unlocked it and slid the door aside with a grating screech.

“Let’s move it,” Victor said.

Dean raised his brow. “I’m being transferred?”

“Into my custody,” Victor replied, his eyes twinkling enough to state loud and clear that Dean’s destination wasn’t supermax.

Maybe he was just being a fool again, but Dean didn’t have a lot of options besides going with Victor on this. Another night with the heavy scent of piss in the air and the guy two cells down singing ‘Joy to the World’ at the top of his lungs would be enough to make Dean actually go homicidal.

They left out the front as if it was a legitimate transfer, Victor signing some papers before gripping Dean’s arm and leading him to his car. Instead of dumping him in the back, Victor opened the passenger door and waved him in.

Dean’s head was spinning too fast for him to even bother with thinking. He just stumbled into the seat the best he could with his ankles still chained together and slowly relaxed back into it once Victor pulled the car away from the curb.

“You wanna explain to me what just happened back there?” Dean asked.

Victor adjusted his mirror then settled his eyes on the road. The sky was beginning to darken, but there was still enough light for Dean to see Victor’s face. With a thoughtful tilt of his head, Victor settled on a road out of town before sparing Dean a glance.

“Next time, try turning on your damn cell phone,” Victor said. Dean barely had time to wrinkle his face in confusion before Victor continued, “I tried calling you half a dozen times to tell you to call it off. The locals were running a meth sting on that warehouse.”

Every angry word Dean had been ready to throw in Victor’s face, pissed off speeches he’d been saving up for days, suddenly deflated as he started to put two and two together. He’d turned the phone off so it wouldn’t give away his position if he got a call in the middle of the hunt, but apparently his position had already been compromised by more annoying things than ghouls.

Dean’s fingers picked at the frayed strands of denim around the hole in his jeans. “And you-“

“Spent the last forty-eight hours losing sleep over how to get your ass out of custody without the sheriff reporting the second resurrection of the fugitive Dean Winchester.”

Dean had thought he was keeping his expression neutral, but Victor’s questioning look said otherwise. The fact that his teeth hurt from clenching his jaw probably should have also been a clue.

“What?” Victor asked. “You didn’t think I’d get you out of there?”

Dean shifted his gaze out the passenger window, feeling like too much of a jerk to tell Victor just what he had thought. Once again though, it wasn’t as if he could keep anything from Victor.

“You thought it was me,” Victor said. It was a statement, not a question and to the agent’s credit he managed to keep all but the slightest hint of hurt from his tone. “You thought after all this time I’d not only turn on you, but not have the guts to be the one to take you down?”

“No...”

Victor quirked a brow that cut the lie short.

“Man, I don’t know.” Dean shook his head, trying to bring his hand up to rub over his face, but the motion was cut short by the snap of the chains that still restrained his hands to the leather strap around his waist. “I guess I’m just used to getting screwed six ways to Sunday.”

“Not by me,” Victor said. The words were spoken with enough certainty to be assuring despite all the pent up tension that still had Dean’s muscles knotted. “If I ever need to screw you over, I’ll do it right to your face. I owe you that much.”

Dean breathed out the lingering frustration and relaxed back into the seat. A smirk curved up the corner of his lips by the time he turned his head back to Victor. “That’s not where I want you screwing me.”

Victor’s posture also relaxed as he chuckled. “I told your brother I’d swing you by Singer’s Salvage once you were out. He wanted to head over as soon as he heard they’d grabbed you, but explaining one back from the dead Winchester was hard enough.”

“So am I officially deceased again?” Dean asked.

Victor pulled the car off the main road, heading down a gravel side road before replying, “You never left the grave.”

“How’s that?” Dean raised his restrained wrists with a jingle. “You can’t tell me they didn’t recognize me. This whole thing looks like your idea.”

“It’s a good look for you,” Victor agreed, “but no. I mean, yeah, the sheriff recognized you, but no that wasn’t my idea. The guy thought he had America’s most wanted on his hands and went on a rampage. Luckily there just happened to be a FBI in the area who could confirm that it was a false sighting of the deceased Dean Winchester.”

“You sly son of a bitch. You have to admit, I look pretty damn good for a dead guy.”

Victor only smirked.

It wasn’t until Victor turned off the car’s engine that Dean even bothered to look to see where they were. Staring out the window, he still wasn’t sure. The sun was gone and had been replaced by the moon, clean white light bright enough for Dean to see they were parked beside a small field in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

“I thought you were taking me to Bobby’s,” Dean said.

Victor pushed open his door and stepped out before leaning back into the car. “I didn’t say there wouldn’t be shortstops.”

“Oh, Vick, you romantic, you.” Dean awkwardly shoved open his own door before practically falling out of the car in a clamor of metal. “So you gonna get these damn chains off me or what?”

“Let’s not jump into anything,” Victor said as he walked around the car to join Dean. “You could still be a flight risk.”

“You’re totally getting off on this, you bastard.” Dean bit at his lip, his expression turning serious by the time Victor was pressed close to his side. Dean leaned back against the car to steady himself. “Am I really worth your job?”

Victor leaned back beside him, fingers playing over his beard. “I was thinking about all the lives that wouldn’t get saved with you behind bars, but the perks aren’t bad either.”

“Not bad?” Dean roused at the obvious challenge. “Dude, I’m a god.”

At that, Victor gave a genuine, hearty laugh that only egged Dean on further. He shoved himself away from the car, walking a few feet over to the edge of the field. Without the benefit of his hands to steady him, he lowered himself to his knees.

The chains clinked in a pile pooled on the ground around him. Moist dew from the overgrown grass soaked into the denim covering one of his knees while the wet blades tickled the bare skin at his torn pant leg. He was barely settled before Victor stepped to stand directly in front of him. The man’s face was dark and his expression murky with the moon’s backlighting.

Dean’s hands were cut short from reaching for Victor’s zipper by the insufficient length of chains. Victor made that annoyingly smug sound he always did when he was getting his way, which didn’t make much sense given that Victor wasn’t getting any like this.

“You think this is funny?” Dean asked. “Looks like you’re out of luck until you get these things off me.”

“Would a god really let some chains stop him?”

Dean sneered up at Victor, trying and failing to hide the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. It was hardly fair that Victor could mask his features while the moon’s light fully bathed Dean’s front side where it didn’t fall into Victor’s shadow.

He tilted his head, using his teeth to grip the edge of the fabric beside the button of Victor’s slacks. Dean tugged it easily free before using his nose to push the flap aside. His tongue took in the tang of metal as it ran along the seam, tracing up to the zipper pull where his teeth took over. He tugged down the zipper, opening Victor’s fly and revealing the already anxious bulge of his briefs.

“Color me impressed,” Victor said.

“I hate to break your heart, but yours isn’t the first pair of pants I’ve been in,” Dean replied as he rocked back on his knees far enough to be able to look up at Victor’s face. “And you’re not the first to conveniently lose the cuff keys.”

Victor turned his head enough for the moon to catch his face, where quiet amusement danced over his features. “Must be something about you.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “It’s my sucky taste in girls.”

Dean leaned forward again, nuzzling beneath Victor’s now loose dress shirt and seeking out his waistband. The night air had cooled Dean’s cheek, making the flat of Victor’s stomach feel hot against his skin. He took the cotton into his mouth, his nose filling with a heavy musk that went straight to Dean’s own cock and leaving it straining against his zipper.

He sped up his efforts. The faster Victor was ready, the quicker Dean would be getting off. His mouth pulled back the material, working the briefs over Victor’s erection, the slick pre-cum tracing over Dean’s cheek as the cock was freed.

“What was that about girls?” Victor asked, the satisfaction heavy enough in his voice that Dean didn’t have to look up to know the expression he was wearing.

“You ought to be careful, Vicky. You could put someone’s eye out with that.”

Victor didn’t bother with words, only buried his hands into Dean’s hair, working his fingers deep into his scalp and pulling his head closer. Dean’s mouth fumbled to capture Victor’s cock, his tongue circling the head before sucking it in. His lips slid down the shaft with a practiced ease while his fingers urgently worked free his own zipper.

The sound of his zipper being undone was too loud in the still night. Even the wind was silent and the season had turned too cold for the choir of crickets and frogs to be in full swing. It was only the slick sound of Dean’s mouth working hard, but apparently not hard enough to distract Victor.

With a tsking sound, the agent pulled back just out of Dean’s reach, bending forward to jerk Dean’s cuffed hands away from his boxers.

“Hey!” Dean protested.

Victor stood back up to his full height, looming over Dean. “Not your turn.”

“Thanks to you, I spent the last couple nights in lockup. I couldn’t exactly get in any me time with Jolly eyeing my package.”

“No,” Victor corrected, “thanks to me you’re not spending tonight there. You owe me.”

Despite his words, the agent dug his hand into the pocket of his slacks, which were beginning to slip down his hips. He ignored their decent and dangled a small set of keys in Dean’s face.

“Finally,” Dean said, holding his cuffed hands as high as he could.

Victor worked the key into the lock without a word, first detaching them from the belt before beginning to unlock the cuffs. One of his wrists was freed and Dean waited for the other to follow. Instead of unlocking the other cuff, Victor gripped Dean’s bicep and hauled him to his feet.

The action caught Dean off guard, triggering a fight instinct that he only barely managed to suppress as Victor shoved him forward over the hood of the car. It wasn’t a position that Dean was unfamiliar with and was one that he was accustomed to having to submit to. At least for once, it might actually end well for him.

He stifled a groan as his arms were twisted behind his back, less because of the movement of his arms and more because it forced his swollen cock to grind against the side of the car. There was a click as the cuff that had been freed was again tightened around his wrist, binding his arms behind him and out of reach of his zipper.

Dean tried to see over his shoulder. He caught a glimpse of Victor’s gloating face before hiding his own smirk by letting his head fall back to the hood. His flushed cheek quickly cooled against the surface of the car.

He finally felt Victor’s hands work beneath his shirt. The buckle to his jeans was unfastened while the restraining belt and chains that ran down to the shackles were left in place.

A chill rushed over Dean when Victor slid a hand into his boxers and pushed down the cotton. He swept down the denim along with it, leaving only the cold metal of the chains brushing against his bare legs. The hand’s heat returned, sliding over his exposed thigh and running right past what Dean’s thrusting hips had hoped was the intended target.

Victor’s hand instead slipped down, cupping Dean’s ass, running teasingly over his tingling skin before his cheeks were spread. Dean pushed his hips back, welcoming the careful persuasion of slickened fingers that were always too gentle. Damn Victor and his infinite patience.

It wasn’t until more lube was applied directly that Dean felt that it was as warm as Victor’s fingers. The agent had been carrying the tube around in his pocket.

Dean’s eyes were hazed as he again looked over his shoulder. “You just carry that stuff around with you?”

“Only when you’re around.”

“I guess you better stock up,” Dean replied as he begged the fingers deeper.

He closed his eyes when the hands left him. Their departure was followed by the tearing of a condom packet and soon after the wet friction of Victor coating himself with lube. Dean’s body tensed in anticipation as one of Victor’s hands gripped Dean’s bound wrists, pinning him against the hood, while the other held his hip in place.

Dean grunted as Victor pushed in, entering him at a slow, steady pace, letting Dean open himself up until Victor was completely buried within him. It wasn’t until then that Victor pulled back and began to thrust, the slap of flesh against flesh replacing the stifling silence of the night.

The rocking swayed Dean’s chains, bruising against his knees and clattering them against the side of the car. If it was the Impala, Dean would have kill Victor then and there, but this was worth a little chipped paint off the cheap ass government fleet car.

Gravel ground beneath Dean’s feet as he spread his legs as far as he could. The bounds of the shackles and the pull of the knotted denim around them didn’t allow his legs to spread far enough to invite Victor in as deeply as Dean needed him.

Victor’s breaths quickened to pants peppered with needy grunts that Dean had memorized well enough to use as indicators for what Victor’s next move would be. From the sounds he made, Dean knew which way Victor would thrust, how deeply and where he would move his hands to pull Dean closer. He knew better than Victor when he paid attention, but he was pulled into his own sensations, joining the chorus rather than bothering to read it.

While keeping a hand on Dean’s back to steady him, Victor moved his other hand over Dean’s sweat-slick thighs, slipping between them to fondle his balls while still pounding into him. Dean arched into the contact as nimble fingers moved on to jerk him off, in quick, hard tugs that left him spraying his own stomach where his t-shirt had ridden up and splattering the side of the car.

With a clunk, Dean’s head collapsed back onto the hood. As he worked to catch his breath, Victor didn’t pull out and his hand continued to run over Dean’s trembling thighs, bringing warmth where the night was cold.

After a moment of fiddling with the chain that hung by Dean’s leg, Victor leaned over him, his body covering his. “I don’t want you gone and you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried,” Victor said.

The heat of Victor’s breath ghosted over Dean’s ear, his words bringing a hidden smile to Dean’s lips. Any residual tension evaporated with the release of the cuffs and firm hands working the knots from his shoulders, promising that there were still a few things besides himself that Dean could count on.


End file.
